


Deleted Scenes from Tower Indigo: Auror Training

by HourlyLawyer



Series: Tower Indigo [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen, Thriller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:01:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23585785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HourlyLawyer/pseuds/HourlyLawyer
Summary: Deleted scenes from Auror training fromTower Indigo. Contains spoilers for the first five chapters ofTower Indigo.
Series: Tower Indigo [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1697839





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Deleted scenes from _Tower Indigo_ 's Auror training arc (chapters 2 through 5). Obviously, these deleted scenes **contain spoilers for Tower Indigo chapters 1 through 5**.
> 
> All of these scenes were originally part of the main story, but they unfortunately had to be cut because even though I immensely enjoyed writing them, they didn't contribute much to the plot. Each deleted scene is relatively self-contained.
> 
> Rated M for language, violence, gore, and scenes of a sexual nature.

"You lot, back in formation."

Ezra rushed to comply. But the conspicuously empty spot in front of him captured his attention for longer than he'd care to admit.

" _ Au commande _ !" 

They snapped to attention.

"Remember, left step is always first. Ready?"

"Yes, Caretaker!"

"Forward —ho!"

They marched onward without looking back.

_ Left, left, left, left... _ he recited in his head as he marched, primarily as a means of avoiding thinking of anything else, such as the searing pain in his legs. At least they were back at a walking pace, instead of a jog. Maybe their instructor had taken a bit of pity on them.

When they finally returned to the quad after an eternity, Ezra nearly cried with relief.

"Cadets —halt! Back to ranks!"

After they had returned to their standard formation, sans one witch, the Caretaker stared them down. "It could have been worse," he finally grunted. "Remember, for any marching commands, it's always the left foot. Some of you screwed up and halted on the right, instead of the left."

"I'm hard on you because I have to be," he continued after a moment's silence. "If you can't follow instructions, I need to know now. If you're not physically or magically strong enough, I need to know now. If you're a quitter, I need to know now. Because if you fuck up in the field, you will get yourself killed, or worse yet, your partner. And that will make me very unhappy, because it reduces my end-of-year bonus. Are we clear?"

"Yes, Caretaker!" they shouted, more than a few of them quite pale.

"Weasley, what was that noise?"

"Sir, I think that was my stomach..." the Gryffindor said, his face rather red —whether from exertion or embarrassment, Ezra wasn't sure.

"Did I give you permission to make that noise?"

"No, Caretaker."

"Then why did it happen?" he asked expectantly.

"I'm sorry, sir, I can't really help it. I'm a bit hungry..." Weasley trailed off.

The man nearly ran forward until he was standing over Weasley, looking down on him."You're hungry, Weasley? Did I not provide you with a fulfilling breakfast?"

"You did, but we've been jogging all day, and... we missed lunch, I guess," he said with a lopsided shrug, not quite daring to meet the instructor's eyes.

"Oh, no!" the Caretaker bellowed dramatically. "We missed lunch? How terrible, I'll be sure to have a word with — _ get fucking used to it, Weasley! _ " he snarled, backhanding the boy so hard that he was knocked to the ground. "If you signed up to be an Auror because you thought you'd be getting your mother's cooking three times a day, you've made a fatal mistake."

"Sir," Robbins hesitantly began, cowing briefly when the Caretaker turned his glare towards him. "That can't exactly be healthy, can it?"

"You're not here to be  _ healthy _ , Robbins. This is Auror training, not Saint Bloody Mungo's."

Robbins shut up.

"Coincidentally, next on today's schedule is a lunch break..." The Caretaker pulled out a quill and a piece of parchment attached to a board. With a hum, he crossed a line out and scribbled something underneath it. "But it seems there's been a change of plans!" he said with a grotesque smile.

"Way to go, Weasley..." someone muttered acerbically.

"We seemed to enjoy our press-up party this morning. Or at least, I did."

_ Oh, please no _ , Ezra thought with a grimace.

"Let's do a few more —as a group, eh? Assume the position!"

The cadets dropped to the ground —some more gracefully than others—holding the press-up position as they waited for their cue.

"I won't count you off this time. Start."

As thirty-one recruits attempted their various press-ups, the Caretaker watched silently. Or rather, silently except when he barked at them to restart due to someone messing up.

After he finally attained his goal of ten press-ups, Ezra painfully pulled himself back to his feet, doing everything he could to not collapse on the spot, and watching as the others followed suit.

"Appleby, did you do ten press-ups?"

"Yes, sir, I did ten," the boy responded.

"Yaxley, did you do ten?"

"Yes, sir."

"Vance?"

"Yes, sir."

"Cartwright, front and centre!" The girl quickly complied, screaming to a halt right in front of the instructor. "I am not pleased with this group. And neither should you be. Do you know why?"

Her eyes widened and she thought for a moment, before shaking her head slowly.

"Are you sure? What exactly did I ask you to do?" The Caretaker folded his arms as he awaited a response.

After a moment, she finally said: "You asked us to do ten press-ups as a group. We didn't do them as a group."

"No. You did not. Give me ten, as a  _ team _ . I don't care how you do it —just get it done."

Cartwright turned around and stepped forward. "Listen up, everyone. The Caretaker wants ten press-ups as a team, together. I'll call the pace." She sighed and then added almost as an afterthought: "Please don't screw it up; we all want to be done with this."

She dropped to the ground once again, and the others did the same. Everyone was exhausted, but no-one wanted this to last any longer than it absolutely had to.

"One!" she shouted. Thirty-one bodies dipped down in unison and struggled to push themselves back up.

"Two!"

And so it went.

Ironically, it was a testament to just how miserable they were feeling that they finished the set in their first attempt. If there was one thing they had learned in their short time so far at Aurum Vale, it was that doing things right the first time was infinitely better than the alternative.

"You worthless clods are exhausted, but you still got it in your first try. Why the hell haven't I seen that level of effort until now?  _ That _ is the effort I want to see. Now get out of here —get some food. I'll see you in two hours."


	2. Chapter 2

Zacharias Smith was not happy.

His stomach ached —no, it absolutely burned in pain. His shins felt like someone had repeatedly assaulted them with Bludgers as he ran. His eyes could barely focus. They stung as sweat dripped into them, but he didn't dare wipe them dry, as he might just lose his rhythm, which was the only thing he had going for him.

He was nearly there. He couldn't have been more than a kilometre out —but it wasn't clear if he was going to make it. The angry plant nipped at his heels, apparently quite dissatisfied that it hadn't yet had a proper meal that morning. It was well known that Smith was the worst runner of the group. So far, it hadn't posed a serious problem, because the recruits typically ran in lockstep. But now, it was just him; he could hide behind no-one.

"Ahh!" he yelped as he tripped over a root, falling flat on his face. He should have been paying attention, but he had been so absorbed in his thoughts that he had neglected to watch the path in front of him. But it was too late now. He stared up at what he may have called the  _ face _ of a decidedly irate plant.

With a quick shake, the plant raised its two oversized, dome-like flowers, and then swept in to collect its prey.

Smith panicked. He screwed his eyes shut, and then made the last mistake he would ever make on this island.

#

As Ezra lay on the cold ground trying to recover from the deadly assault on his legs, a forcible  _ CRACK _ suddenly resonated through the air.

"What was that?" someone muttered.

The Caretaker jumped up out of his seat with a deep growl, running toward the form of a body on the ground some thirty metres away. Against his better judgement, Ezra followed him out of curiosity. The others seemed to have a similar idea.

"Did you just try to  _ Apparate _ on my island?" the Caretaker thundered. "Are you completely fucking brain-dead, Smith? No bloody wonder this country is in shambles. It's people like you who are trying to become Aurors. How's it feel being splinched? My God, you are hideous."

Indeed, Smith had arrived without a left arm or right leg, and was bleeding quite freely from the stumps that remained.

The Caretaker waved his wand in a complicated pattern, muttering under his breath the whole time —though Ezra wasn't sure if he was saying an incantation or complaining about recruits. After several seconds, the boy's limbs flew into sight from beyond the trees, whereupon they reattached themselves to their respective stumps with a disturbing squelching sound.

"Shit, I should have just let you die for that stunt. Merlin's bollocks..."

"Caretaker," Smith wheezed. "You said if anyone got caught by the plant, they'd be kicked out. I didn't get caught."

"Well fucking congratulations, you bloody lout. No, you didn't get caught. But you also didn't finish the run. I don't accept cheaters in my Auror force. Bugger off back home."

With that, the Caretaker flung Smith's wand at him, and the ugly plant sprang out of the earth to instantly engulf Smith in its thorny embrace before rushing off to the barracks.

The instructor instantly pivoted on his feet, facing the cadets who had observed the whole debacle. "If there's one thing I don't like, it's a cheater. Are you cheaters?"

"No, Caretaker!"

"Are you sure? Jarrett, did you cheat on your twenty-one kilometre run?"

"No, Caretaker!" the boy yelled.

"What about you, Devenish? Did you cheat on your twenty-one kilometre run?"

"No, Caretaker!"

And he went down the line, asking every single cadet if they had cheated —each responding with a resounding "no."

"Very well. Who arrived first?"

"I did, sir," McCormack responded with a hint of apprehension.

"And why is that?"

"Well, umm... I guess I'm a good runner..." she mumbled.

"You're damn right you're a good runner, McCormack."

She looked up in shock at the Caretaker's compliment.

"But I don't think you tried your hardest tonight. You were minutes ahead of everyone else, and you got complacent," he said with a surprisingly calm tone of voice. "You were just riding the wave at the end."

"Sir, you said —"

"I know what I said, McCormack. But I also know what I said at the beginning of training. And I know that you know what I said at the beginning of training. Remind me, if you will —remind your fellow cadets."

"You said you wanted our very best —more than our very best," she said despondently.

"And did you give your very best tonight?"

She worked her jaw for a moment. "No, sir. I did not."

The Caretaker stared at her before reaching into his pocket and withdrawing her wand. With a sigh, he handed it to her. "I'm sorry, but I cannot use you."

With a hiccough, McCormack took the proffered wand, turned, and began the long trek back to the barracks.

"Let this be a lesson to you all. Don't get complacent. You are never safe —not from the enemy, and not from me. If you are not prepared to give your best effort one hundred percent of the time, then the Auror force does not need you."


	3. Chapter 3

The next spell came with no verbal warning, and only because the cadets had been watching the instructor did they react in time. He lifted his wand, waved it in a circle around his head, and jabbed it straight into the air. The result was not just a single spell originating from the middle of the circle; instead, it was a sea of fire radiating from the centre outward. The Caretaker himself was protected by the runes he had inscribed in the sand beneath him, but the cadets were only protected by the hasty Shield Charms they had cast.

Unlike the previous spells, this one didn't let up after the first impact. The swells of fire surged continuously outward, with no end in sight. Ezra shut his eyes as he tried to concentrate, gripping his wand so tightly he was afraid it might snap. He could feel the sweat pouring from his face —hell, from his entire body—as the heat rose to unbearable levels around him, and as he poured every ounce of energy he could muster into the shield. But no matter how much he gave, the unending inferno took more. It eroded away the shield he held over Kovacs; it consumed all of the moisture from his weary body; it sucked every last bit of oxygen from the coastal air.

He began to cough, then wheeze —he couldn't breathe. There was nothing left  _ to _ breathe... but then —

"Hold!"

The flames instantly vanished, and Ezra dropped his wand to the ground, drinking in the now-oxygenated air around him. Though the air was still hot and dry from the raging blaze, it was by all means better than not breathing.

"Pilkington," the Caretaker said, approaching her position at the perimeter of the circle. "You are dead. Your partner killed you."

He turned to Moreau. "What the hell is your issue, boy?"

"I don't have an issue, sir. I just couldn't hold the shield," the Frenchman responded with a scowl.

"You're not even sweating. I don't think you were even trying."

And without another word, the Caretaker let off a Blasting Curse which was quickly parried by Moreau's urgently-erected shield. Another Blasting Curse followed, then a Reductor Curse, and two other salvo-class curses that Ezra couldn't recognise. When the boy blocked those as well, the Caretaker grimaced and began a long and lethal flurry of Slashing Hexes, Tunnel-Boring Curses, and Exsanguination Curses.

After a particularly nasty Skin-Searing Jinx, the instructor stopped and stared at Moreau, who was huffing and puffing, clearly spent after having blocked the tirade of curses. The Caretaker, on the other hand, didn't look at all exhausted.

Instead, he looked livid.

" _ Now _ you're sweating, you fucking fur licker. I see you're perfectly able to shield when it's your own scrawny arse on the line. Let me set the record straight. You're not a team player, Moreau. But not only that; you're arrogant, you're selfish, and worst of all, you're a liar." The Caretaker tossed a wand to the boy. "Now go fuck yourself off my island."


	4. Chapter 4

_ "Welcome to phase three of Auror training. Today, we will practice defending ourselves against Muggle soldiers." The Caretaker suddenly burst out laughing. "Oh, I love this part. This is my favourite exercise!" _

_ Ezra's heart sank, and he warily looked around him. He nearly cried at the sight. No one else was here. He was the only Auror cadet left. _

_ "It's just you and me, Rowe. You should be flattered. Do you know how much some wizards would pay for personal lessons with an Auror Consul?" _

_ The large man bent down and picked up a colossal mace that had been lying at his feet. Protruding from the head of the steel mace was an impressive array of black spikes, each so large that Ezra could probably not even wrap his hand around it. _

_ "En garde," the Caretaker said with a vicious grin. _

_ "But, sir," Ezra quickly said before the man could swing the mace down on his head. "I... don't have a wand." _

_ "Oh, right. Well, you won't need a wand for this. Instead..." He snapped his fingers and a large wooden trunk appeared at his feet. The Caretaker opened the trunk and retrieved the two items there. _

_ "You'll use a sword _ _ —and a... SHIELD!" _

_ " _ Protego _!" Ezra shouted instinctively. _

Ezra's eyes snapped open in time to see a plume of fire blast over his body. Fortunately, his shield held, averting the majority of the heat. Bleary-eyed, he squinted in the direction of the barracks entrance, where the Caretaker stood, wand drawn.

"Acceptable, I suppose. Boot, Parkinson, you'll want to get those burns looked at." Silently, he flicked his wand to extinguish the batch of small fires that had caught around the room —one downside of casting flame spells in a wooden building.

"See you in... fourteen minutes." He swivelled on his foot and left.

With a sigh, Ezra rolled out of bed and threw on the first robes he could find, following the weary group as they slowly made their way to the first of their daily torture sessions.


	5. Chapter 5

After having his injuries treated by the house-elf, Ezra gathered a bowl of rather deplorable soup. As had become habit, he retreated to the far corner of the Mess hall and sat with his back against the wall so that he could observe the others.

Boot was limping toward Devenish's table, platter in hand. When he finally arrived, he gingerly lowered himself to the bench with a grimace, and Ezra was sure he saw Devenish smirk. Clearly, the house-elves had not entirely healed Boot. Good for him.

The Bennett twins sat gossipping with Lovell, Scarlett, and Cartwright. Occasionally, one of the girls would shoot a glare his way. Once, Dennett directed a quite obscene gesture to him, and Bennett giggled. Ezra responded with a choice gesture of his own.

Kovacs and Parkinson were, as customary, sidled up to Nott and Lestrange. They, too, looked up to send occasional glares, but most weren't directed at Ezra himself —except for the occasional one from Kovacs, for obvious reasons.

Appleby winked at Weasley across the room, then surreptitiously approached Nott's table, tapping him on his shoulder as he passed by. The blond then proceeded to the rather secluded table tucked in an alcove by the kitchen. He sat down alongside Rosier and Jarrett and they began a frantic, whispered conversation. Within a few minutes, Nott had excused himself from his own table and joined Appleby's crowd. 

When Hughes noticed the clandestine meeting happening across the room, he got up to investigate for himself. He approached the Appleby table, but before he could open his mouth to say something, Nott saw him and signalled to Appleby, who turned around and rose to his feet to meet the half-blood. There was a quick exchange of heated words, though Ezra couldn't hear the particulars above the general din of the crowd. He was moderately sure he had seen a "Fuck off, Hughes," thrown in there, but he couldn't be certain.

So interested was he in the boys' furtive conversation that he didn't notice Robbins until he had sat down at the opposite corner of Ezra's table. Ezra gave him a brief nod of recognition, but the boy didn't respond. Instead, he stared blankly at the wall ahead as he ate, apparently deep in thought.

He opened his mouth, ready to get Robbins' attention, but then thought better of it. Ezra resolved to talk to him later.


	6. Chapter 6

Once more, a wall of water crashed down on Ezra and he shot up, spluttering, trying to catch his breath. D éjà fucking vu.

"Surprise!" a grating voice called from the barracks entrance; the voice of the very last person on the earth he wanted to see right now. "Get your arses up — _ NOW _ !"

The cots vanished, unceremoniously dumping the cadets to the stone floor. Various moans of pain echoed through the room as Ezra rubbed his wrist which had broken his own fall.

"What time is it..." someone muttered in the darkness.

"Just after midnight! Double file, front and centre." He waited as the twenty-six recruits quickly formed in two lines down the middle of the barracks. "Cadets —march!"

Frayed and frazzled, Ezra could but march, blindly following Yaxley in front of him. On one hand, he wasn't sure what the special occasion was, but on the other hand, he knew for certain that he didn't want to find out. The troupe made their slow way down to the beach under the pale moonlight. At least the bastard didn't have them jogging: it was far too early in the morning for that.

They arrived at the beach-front and arranged themselves in a single line facing the water, just as they had the other day during their "shields exam." The full moon shone down on them, illuminating the entire beach in its eerily calming rays of light. Even from this distance, it was quite easy to see the Caretaker, who stood facing them with arms crossed in front of his chest.

"Drop your wands to the ground," their instructor said after appraising them silently. "Good. Now strip."

"Pardon?" asked Petrovic with a sharp edge in her voice.

The instructor turned toward her and stared for a moment before stonily walking up to her. With no little ire, he brought his arm up and backhanded her with a resounding  _ CRACK _ . "Take off your fucking clothes, bitch. Unless you'd rather me do it for you," the man growled through clenched teeth.

Ezra frowned and slowly dropped his robes and undergarments to the ground. He couldn't be arsed to try to figure out what their depraved trainer was up to, and he wasn't dumb enough to defy orders. Around him, the others were similarly removing their clothes with varying degrees of hesitance. Some, like him, stared ahead, too tired to make a scene; others leered licentiously at their neighbours, taking advantage of the opportunity the Caretaker had presented them.

Eventually, the shuffling of feet and rustling of clothing stopped, signalling everyone's completion of their task. That is, everyone except —

"Atherton. You have five seconds to strip before I burn you alive."

"Caretaker —"

The Caretaker had apparently learned to count very quickly, as he immediately cut the boy off by lighting his robes on fire.

Atherton screamed and dropped to the ground as he tried to smother the readily-growing flames that saturated his clothes. When that failed, he desperately clawed at the ground for his wand, but couldn't find it. Finally, he ripped his clothes from his body, tossing them to the side, where they continued to burn a bright orange in stark contrast to the pale moonlight bathing the beach.

"That wasn't so difficult, was it?"

Atherton's only response was a muted moan as he cradled the burns on his shoulders.

"Now put your hands on your head," the man ordered. "Don't be shy, Lovell, let's see them tits. There ya go."

"That's what I like to see," Rosier muttered salaciously to Ambrose right next to him.

Apparently the Caretaker had heard the remark as well, because he whipped around and jinxed the boy, zipping his mouth shut —literally, with a zipper. "I am just not in the mood for your talking tonight."

Rosier's eyes widened and he groped his face with his hands, trying to figure out what had happened to him.

"Put your hands on your  _ fucking head _ !" The Caretaker seemed to vanish and then instantly appear in front of the boy, kneeing him in the groin.

Rosier fell to the ground, tears streaming from his eyes, but he couldn't shout in pain as his mouth was locked shut.

"Hurts, doesn't it? Good."

The instructor backed up to survey the entire squadron.

"Take a look around, no need to be ashamed. What? I assume none of this is new for you, seeing as you all enjoy habitually buggering over your entire squad. Or just being buggered. Isn't that right, Pilkington?"

The girl in question paled but stared back, straight-faced.

"Why are we out here?" the man asked after another uncomfortable silence.

Ezra didn't have the least bit of a clue. And judging from the reigning silence, neither did anyone else.

"No one has any idea? What a shame. Keep your hands on your head, and walk until I say stop."

The line of recruits slowly advanced toward the water. As they passed by the Caretaker, he laughed and smacked Bennett on the arse.

Ezra cringed as they approached the water, and sucked in a breath when they finally hit the ice-cold surf. Scarlett shrieked and jumped back just as the Caretaker called them to a halt.

"What's your issue, Scarlett? Didn't you enjoy your swim last week?"

"It's got to be five degrees, sir..."

"Better get used to it, then." The Caretaker lunged toward the girl but before he could push her in, she jumped out of reach —right into the water.

"Tonight, we're going to hearken back to our roots: press-ups! Assume the position."

Ezra looked down with horror. The water was bad enough with just his feet in it. Even by now, his feet were numbing, and he had to awkwardly shift on his feet to try to keep the blood flowing. Worse still, he was facing away from the beach, meaning that during the press-up, both his hands and feet would be under the surface.

Clenching his eyes and mouth shut, he dropped to all fours and tried, almost successfully, to bite back a yelp of shock.

"Down!" Cartwright shouted over the sound of the waves crashing on the beach.

Ezra dropped down, stopping just before his chest hit the water, and then pushed back up to the neutral position.

"Hold on —what the hell was that? That's not a bloody press-up. You know the rules," the Caretaker called from behind them.

"Down!"

Ezra sucked in a large breath and dropped down beneath the surface. The icy water's sudden grip felt like a punch in the chest, and he made the mistake of gasping —or rather, trying to gasp. When he opened his mouth, he accidentally inhaled some water and he pressed back up as quick as he could, coughing and wheezing, doing whatever he could to rid his lungs of the excess water.

"Merlin's frosty bollocks, did I not teach you lot how to do a press-up? You should be low enough to fuck the sand. Let's hope there's no crabs down there."

And on they went. For each press-up, Ezra would take a deep breath and plunge down all the way to the sand, and then come back to breathe. He had no words to describe just how cold he was. His feet and hands had long since lost any feeling in them, and he really had no way of knowing if his fingers and toes were still attached or if they had floated away.

"So, why are we out here?" the Caretaker asked after some ten or twenty press-ups. "Still no ideas? I promise you, I can do this all morning."

If anyone knew the answer, they certainly weren't talking.

Unfortunately, they kept at it, but Ezra could feel his body starting to shut down as they continued on. His arms were quivering so badly that sometimes he just collapsed into the briny water and had to push himself back up with his elbows and knees. His lungs were so weak that sometimes he couldn't even hold his breath before going back down.

Every few minutes, the Caretaker repeated his question, to no avail. And, he had taken to kicking anybody who failed a press-up; and then, more recently, he had begun using a mild electrocution spell to  _ encourage  _ good form.

Finally, after what could have been the millionth press-up, he heard Devenish try to say something; but the only thing that came out was a raspy sort of groan.

"What was that?" their instructor asked. He walked over, gripped her arm, and pulled her up so that she was half-standing and half-leaning against the Caretaker.

"Rosier... transfigured..." she gasped amidst frantic breaths.

"Yeah. That's right," he said with a fierce stare. Then, he turned his attention to the other cadets, who were still struggling with their umpteenth press-up.

"All you arseholes, stop! Miss Devenish has so kindly explained our presence here this beautiful morning. She claims that Mr Rosier has been a naughty boy. She claims that he's been using his wand when he shouldn't. What do you have to say, Rosier?"

The boy gestured wildly at his mouth which was still jinxed shut.

"I'll take your silence as complicit agreement," the man said with a cackle. Then he turned to the girl whose arm he still held in a vice grip. "You know what, Devenish —I don't like tattletales."

He flung her to the ground and approached Rosier. "But I  _ hate _ people who disobey orders."

The Caretaker withdrew a wand from his pocket and snapped it cleanly in two.

"Oops," he said with an unapologetic smile. He tossed the pieces at the boy who stared back at him in disbelief.

Suddenly, the ground beneath Rosier began to shake, and the sand and water began to swirl like a small whirlpool. Without warning, he was sucked underneath as the Caretaker not-so-solemnly looked on.

"Looks like we're done here —my God, Appleby," the Caretaker said with a quick gesture to the boy's groin. "No wonder you're always so whiny—that's embarrassing."

Amidst scattered laughs, Appleby flushed and turned away from the others, quickly trying to locate his clothes.

"Now fuck off so I don't have to see that shit again. Except you, Dennett —you're welcome any time."


	7. Chapter 7

A quick whisper and muted snicker came from the back row of cadets.

The Caretaker whipped his head around, locking eyes with the offending recruit. "What was that? You got a problem, Boot?"

"Uh, no problem, sir," the Ravenclaw responded.

"Get up here."

Boot hesitantly walked forward until he was standing right in front of the instructor.

"What is your problem, cadet?" the Caretaker asked, left eye twitching dangerously.

"I was just making a joke... sir."

"Well?" he asked expectantly. "Let's hear it, then. I love a good joke."

"It wasn't that funny..." Boot said lamely.

"I got a hell of a sense of humour. Don't I, Cartwright?".

"Yes, Caretaker," the girl promptly responded.

He stared at Boot, who squirmed in the tense silence, but the Caretaker seemed to be in no rush. Finally, with a sigh, Boot quickly blurted out: "You said you don't pay us to backtalk and then I said you didn't pay us at all..."

Another heavy silence followed. The cadet and the Caretaker stared at each other, one with weariness, doubt, and a bit of fear in his eyes; the other with a completely unreadable expression that failed to allay any nervousness on Boot's part.

Ezra rolled his wand between his fingers, trying to anticipate what the Caretaker would do next —preparing for the worst.

At long last, a wide grin marred the large man's face and his eyes lit up. "It seems we have a comedian in our midst. Why don't we celebrate this aspiring entertainer by watching him do fifty press-ups."

Just as Boot was about to drop to the ground, the Caretaker waved his wand and summoned a layer of burning coals beneath their feet.

"What's wrong?" the instructor quipped upon seeing Boot's hesitation.

The Ravenclaw looked up at the Caretaker with a mix of panic and hatred in his eyes. "Nothing," he ground out through clenched teeth. With a hiss of pain, he dropped to his hands and started counting.

" _ Imperium, Regnum, Arbitrium _ , four..."

When Boot reached twelve press-ups, the Caretaker raised his foot and pressed it down onto the cadet's back. The boy grunted and faltered, but dutifully resumed his press-ups despite the extra weight. The effort was clearly taking its toll on him; the exertion was evident on his face.

At twenty-three, Ezra could smell the acrid odour of burning flesh. Boot was whimpering and he had tears welling in his eyes. As each tear dropped to the coals below, it evaporated with an intimidating  _ hiss _ . At forty-four press-ups, he was openly sobbing and clearly struggling to finish each one. But finish he did, and he shakily rose to his feet.

Ezra cringed. Boot's hands were blackened and bloody, and he was sure he could see different hues of pus oozing out of the boils that covered either hand.

"Anyone else want to be a comedian this morning?" the Caretaker asked with no little vitriol.


End file.
